


cape town

by gravitational



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitational/pseuds/gravitational
Summary: He left him in Cape Town.





	cape town

Brendon shut the door of his motel room behind him with maybe too much force, but he didn't even wince when it slammed loudly in the frame. Normally he would be concerned - this was a fucking cheap room, he'd probably just screwed up the hinges permanently - but for now, he didn't give a damn.

He blew out a harsh sigh, raking a hand through his hair - already unkempt from other such assaults - and looking around frustratedly. The bed was neatly made, and he could tell just from looking at it that it wouldn't be very comfortable. Fuck comfort. He hadn't forgone the bunks in the tour van, which were at least padded, in the hopes of finding a goddamn cloud to sleep on. He was here to hide.

Outside, he could clearly hear a motor starting - the walls were thin. He hadn't expected much else from a dingy motel on the outskirts of Cape Town. Sure, it was a huge fucking step down from the hotel he'd just left, but it was better than heading back to the van and facing the rest of his band - or, well, what was left of it.

Brendon threw the room key to the side, not caring where it landed, and headed to the bathroom, flicking on the light. He leaned his weight on the counter and stared into the smudged glass, marred by a crack in the top left. He looked wrecked. He was so fucking pale, and his tearstreaked eyeliner stood out violently against his skin. There was a slew of hickeys on his throat, black and blue where his collar was popped, his shirt half-unbuttoned. 

Brendon drew in a shaky sigh and turned on the faucet, splashing himself with icy cold water until his eyeliner was gone and the redness of his eyes was even plainer in the translucency of his face. He shut off the water with a muffled curse and stripped himself bare, praying to the god in which he didn't believe that there was hot water in this hellhole. There was.

He stayed under the steaming spray for what felt like hours, letting the water wash off all traces of sex scent. Eventually he gave up on cleaning and just leaned forward against the tile wall, the water hot and calming against his back. He hung his head and closed his eyes, only to open them an instant later, because all he saw in the blackness was he man he loved walking away. He sighed and stood up, arched back to get his face under the spray, got out a second later and turned off the shower, hating himself immediately because the silence was too loud.

As he dried off, wrapped tight in a towel and wondering idly if he could hang himself with the thin fabric, he glanced to the fogged-up mirror, then looked again. He dropped the towel and stepped over, ran his finger through the hazy film and cursed aloud when he left the room.

He left behind him "northern downpour" and half a broken heart.

 


End file.
